Catching Stars
by graveofbutterflies
Summary: Out of all the ways Captain America was expecting to die, dying alone wasn't one of them.


**Test **target 10000 words

—

It was cold.

He could feel his skin sticking to the metal floors, feel the freezing air knife his chest as he took each unsteady breath. He could feel the icicles of his hair, his eyelashes, his suit, _his skin_.

Gasping, Captain America snapped his eyes open, feeling the familiar tug of a chain as he did so. The scraping of metal echoed quietly but to him it was like fingernails scraping against a chalkboard, like they used to when he was at school.

His lips parted and fog clouded the air as he struggled to get his breathing under control, destroy the panic flaring in his chest. Captain America did not panic.

Captain America never panicked.

He was in a box. Something like a freezer, but instead of the modern ones Tony would often boast about as he shown his kitchen and it's many uses. This freezer was metal – an old metal, judging by the way the corners rusted – and his breath hitched when he realised no door was in sight. The temperature was low, too low, even for Captain America standards, and frost was quickly spreading across the prison's walls and floor, his legs, his arms…it was just like the plane, back when –

Captain America could not panic.

He shut off the memories with an audible grunt, searching his brain for any explanation why he was in a freezer. But the cold was already making his mind fogged, slowly churning, and a blackness was his only clue – which really wasn't a clue at all. It was like hide and seek.

He had really hated the game when he was a child. He never got why the game was fun, when what it really relied on was small children relying on the seeker to find them. The seeker could always _not_ find them, and that's what had troubled Steve Rogers to no end whenever some kids pressured him to joining in. There, in the dark, he would be waiting, hoping that someone to find him. And Bucky always did.

"_Those other kids might leave you, but I ain't, Steve - I'm your friend, an' that's what friends do. So I'll always find you." _Was what Bucky Barnes said the day Steve Rogers was scared that no one was coming for him. He never told Bucky that, but somehow he knew what was going on inside his head. Steve Rogers was very open with his emotions, and was very readable. But Captain America was not.

With a hitch of breath, Captain America let out a weak moan, struggling against his chains. The spiked ice cut into his wrists and made him wince, but he bit his lip from crying out. Warm blood dribbled down his arms and he found it nice – in a sick, twisted way he found that bleeding was worth it to feel warm.

As if the cuts were a switch, pain began lacing his body, and he really did cry out this time.

The main, and most concerning, injury was a wound on his head that had been dripping blood onto the metal floors. It made him feel dizzy and unsteady. His breaths were not only cold, but painful, signalling a nice set of broken ribs that would probably be a hazard later, but right now the cold was numbing him and his senses, and he just didn't care. Captain America didn't let injuries stop him.

"_What was it that I told you, Steve?"_

_Steve Rogers looked up at his mother, blinking as water dribbled from his forehead and down his eyelids. His mother tutted, her beautiful blue eyes flashing with worry._

"_Ma, they were pickin' on the little 'uns." Steve explained, looking down at his muddy shoes. A bruise was blossoming on his ankle. _

"_Steve." His ma held his chin gently, pushing his head to look up at her. He squirmed under her gaze, feeling a hot guilt spread over his body. His name always managed to do that, somehow. He didn't like disappointing or hurting her, and each time he did it felt like a blow to himself, like the brambles that snagged him whenever he took the shortcut to Bucky's house. _

"_Steve, sometimes you have to think about yourself." Ma said, giving him a watery smile. She dabbed the cool cloth over his head graze again (a particularly nasty shove that sent him to the ground) and Steve winced, holding his ma's hand; her skin was worn and creased, but soft to the touch. _

"_But ma," Steve's eyes widened, tilting his head, "if I think 'bout myself, who's gonna save other people?" _

_His ma laughed, making Steve smile. _

"_Oh, Stevie." She smiled, wiping his cheek. It had a light scratch on it from when one of the bullies scratched him with his stick because he was "interfering." Steve couldn't help it though, seeing all of the little children cowering as their toys got stolen. Sure, they were bigger and meaner than him, but he tried._

"_You don't have to be the hero. Sometimes you can let go," Ma smiled again, her eyes twinkling in the way that he liked them to. They looked like the bright stars that he and Bucky would look at in the sky. "You can just be Steve, and I'll always love you for it." His ma wrung the flannel, placing it on the counter. _

"_You will?" Steve held her hand tighter, leaning into her side. She smelt of the flowers that bloomed in the fields in the park._

"_Forever and ever." Ma whispered, stroking his hair._

He didn't even realise his eyes had closed until he opened them, the ice already freezing his eyelashes together. It was getting darker now, and Captain America knew that blackouts weren't a good sign, in the cell or in his mind.

It was getting colder now; his limbs were cramped and covered in frost, and the metal was stuck to his skin, chains digging into his wrists. The air felt too thin, his body felt too weak – Captain America couldn't be weak, it wasn't possible, it wasn't allowed.

But here he was. Alone, and dying.

His breath hitched and he coughed, the blunt truth crashing upon him. His chest wheezed, his head throbbed and he was _cold, _cold to the bone. He was past the point of shivering, just experiencing a strange numbness as each of his limbs died on him.

_Cold, dirty water clogged his throat, burning his lungs…frost shut his eyes, so he couldn't see above the artic waters and into the sky…he couldn't move, couldn't breathe – _

"No!" The Captain spoke before he realised it, gasping. His chest tightened as he stiffly moved his arms to hug himself as he lay on his back. The great Captain America was panicking, heart racing, and almost crying as he thought of something that happened years ago, decades ago. But without any familiar comforts, he was slowly loosing it, his fogged mind unable to hold on to the sanity he had left.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The cold settled in his lungs, restricting them. His ribs felt like needles, stabbing him as he breathed. With a weak moan, he coughed, wiping the blood off his lips.

With a surge of adrenaline, Captain America cried out, pulling at the chains that held him, yelling as the cold ripped off his skin. The frigid air was suffocating, pressing him, smothering him, choking him – just like the plane. He wasn't going to die, not again, not like last time.

Blood ran down his back as he tugged, feeling one of his wrists crack. Pain was nothing to him and he tugged harder, feeling the other wrist snap and bend awkwardly. Still, he pulled harder and harder, feeling his bones crunch under his skin. His uniform had torn long ago, showing the white bone cutting out of his skin like paper. He couldn't feel it though, but relished the warmth that spread down his arms for a few valuable seconds – his blood, running down his arms and dripping from his elbows. His breath was now creating white clouds in the air, almost giving he illusion that he was outside, gazing at the clouds in Brooklyn.

There was a low grinding sound and the chains were wrenched in two, each chain link twisted and broken. The avenger fell back, landing on his back. Ice dug deep into his muscles as he panted, arms trembling. Already they were growing stiff again, getting stuck to the metal floors, trapping him. Not that he realised. His mind was drifting, dying as he lay, eyes glazing. He couldn't feel his legs or arms anymore.

_Steve Rogers was sitting on their bench, wet and miserable. Two coats had been wrapped around him by his mother, and thick boots (that were ugly, in his opinion but they cost a lot so he didn't complain) warmed his feet, but were uncomfortable and two sizes two small. He watched as all the other kids his aged played football, or made snow angels – things he couldn't dream of doing because his ma told him not to because of his weak lungs. When he asked what this meant she replied:_

"_You can't fight off deadly coughs as well, like that one that Joe Smith caught next door, don't you remember?"_

_So he was sitting on the bench in the snow, miserable. _

"_Why you pullin' such a long face?" Bucky said, sitting next to him. Steve sent him a half amused, half irritated look to his friend._

"_Ma said no snow." He mumbled, shivering. "Says I'll get sick again."_

"_Yeah, but that don't mean you gotta be lonely." Bucky shuffled closer to him, pressing his body against his own. Despite the two coats, he was cold (the coats were cheap and second hand, so it was just like wearing two thin bed sheets) so he huddled against Bucky shyly. It suddenly occurred to him that Bucky would want to play in the snow, just like he described to Steve as they stargazed. The first grey could had hovered over Brooklyn like a big kite, and Bucky grinned, saying that "snow's comin' soon, and I'm gonna roll in it 'till I'm a snowman. Then I'll scare my Papa, sayin' I was frozen solid!" _

"_Don't stay here for me, Buck." Steve muttered, looking up at his friend. Already, Steve was much smaller than Bucky, and had to look up to talk to him. _

"_I ain't stayin' here for you, I'm stayin' here for me." Bucky replied, grinning. "See, playin' in that snow without you is real boring, much more boring than talking to you." Steve looked at Bucky for few moments, watching as the snow slowly fell into his brown hair. His friend looked genuine, staring at Steve as if he was a person, not some sick kid on the street. That's why he liked Bucky so much – he never judged him from day one, not when he was too sick to get out of bed. _

_Still, he frowned, thinking back to their conversation the night before. _

"_But Buck, scarin' your Papa –"_

"_Don't matter to me anymore – it's too cold to dress up as a snowman anyways." Bucky replied smoothly, giving him a toothy grin. He had recently lost his front tooth after biting into one of the apples on old Jarrow's farm; Steve had yelled as it hit the floor before laughing as Bucky cheered, holding his tooth up like a trophy._

"_Besides," Bucky continued, scraping up some snow off the floor. "We can still make mini snowmen." _

"_But we cant let your stupid cat squash them." Steve grinned, thinking about the fat cat that had a wonky eye. _

"_We'll guard 'em just right." Bucky gave a chunk of snow to Steve and grabbed another for himself. "You make the head and I'll make the body, 'cos if you make the body he'll be too fat."_

"_Yeah but you'll make the body all bumpy!" Steve grinned, rolling the snow into a round ball. It felt soft and stung his fingers, like he imagined it would. _

"_What, like old Margret?" Bucky spluttered, laughing hard before he could finish. Steve snorted, laughing guiltily. Once he started, he couldn't stop, his shoulders shaking as he wheezed at Bucky's side._

Captain America laughed, the air brushing past his chapped lips and into the cold air. He couldn't feel it.

He laughed weakly, chest rattling as he stared up at the icy ceiling. Bucky's smiling face stared back at him, unblinking and _happy. _He reached out to touch it, ripping more skin as his arm was forced off the ground, and reached out to his friend, letting out a small whimper. Nothing happened. Bucky's face had left in a blink and Steve let his arm fall with a thud onto his chest. The only functioning part of his mind told him that he was dying, and Tony would not be happy if their Captain died in a freezer.

Tony. The Avengers.

He reached into his exhausted mind, searching for any answers to the fate of his team. Nothing surfaced about from loud cries, panicked yells and loud explosions. It was like he was searching through a long tunnel, which was easy enough, but if the tunnel was pitch black and was tiny, it was much harder.

His head throbbed and he closed his eyes, feeling so _tired. _His mind screamed at him not to fall asleep, but he slowly drifted into unconsciousness, or thought he had until he heard a low trickling sound that made his heart plummet.

Coughing, he rolled to his side, noting that the blood from his head had began to freeze on his neck. Trembling, he forced his body into a crouch as he crawled to the source of the noise, the ice digging into his skin. The noise grew louder, more insistent, more chilling.

_He couldn't breathe, only sink as he watched the daylight fade. Cold nested into each of his joints and he let out a silent scream –_

Captain America collapsed, his arms folding in beneath him like an doll. His head smacked against the floor, reopening the head wound and blood began to pool under him; some from his head, but mainly from his wrists, which were now a mess on bone jutting out of his skin. The pain was sneaking back into his system, making him pant heavily as he inspected his hands with horror. His vision swam and he wanted to stay on the ground, give up like he did when he was five and fell out of the tree he had been climbing.

The noise was much louder than it had been, however, and he gave a low sound that even sounded inhuman to his ears.

Captain America didn't give up.

Gasping, he rolled his head to face the wall, heaving back on his back, aching and _tired_. Something that wasn't blood tickled his ear and he jerked his neck upwards, feeling the frost crack in his hair.

Water. Running more rapidly after each rugged breath he took, slowly covering the floor, soon himself.

_The water was dark – he didn't like it. He wished he could see Peggy's smiling face one more time, or at least see the sun that he so often admired, wanting to feel it against his skin. But the water was choking him, freezing his insides – _

"Tony!" He screamed, dragging himself to the wall. He weakly pounded his fist against the metal. "Clint! Natasha! Bruce! Thor! Please…" he coughed, spraying blood against the ice. He let out a choked sob, water sloshing beneath him as he slid to the ground.

"Bucky…Ma…"

Captain America didn't cry.

Captain America couldn't cry.

Captain America can't, can't, can't –

Steve Rogers pounded the walls. Steve Rogers called out to ghosts. Steve Rogers cried.

Steve Rogers was dying.

"_Ma, it feels like I'm dying…" Steve groaned, slamming his head into the pillow. He was hot, bothered and achey; he wanted to go to sleep._

_His ma's cool hand pressed on his forehead and he leant into it, sighing. Her nails dug into his sweaty bangs and pulled them back gently so he could see her beautiful face, her beautiful smile, her beautiful eyes. _

"_I know my little hero, I know." His ma looked close to crying, like she always did whenever he was sick. He didn't get why - he'd always be fine in the end, always would be if she was beside him._

"_You need to rest now, close your eyes." Ma streaked his cheek as Steve struggled in his bed sheets, feeling the sweat trickle down his back. _

"_I c-can't, Ma!" Steve whined, coughing. The heat seemed to be strangling him, clogging up his lungs and throat. "I c'nt…" he repeated, voice slurring. A sniff above him made him turn his head at his Ma._

_She was crying._

_Steve Rogers hated it when his ma cried._

_He'd rather see a child cry, rather see the devil, rather see heaven burn, rather see the stars fall and die. But his ma's tears could tear the universe up in a second – or just Steve's universe, but that was enough._

"_Don't cry, Ma…please don't cry…" Steve mumbled, winding his fingers through hers, feeling the small bump on her thumb. His ma wiped her eyes, holding his hand tight. _

"_I'll try, Stevie." She sniffed again, and Steve let his head fall back into the pillow, exhausted. Just continuing to breathe was hard at the moment. _

"_Ma?" Steve mumbled, panting. _

"_Yes, Stevie?" _

"_Could you sing to me?" _

_His ma smiled, fingers combing through his hair. _

"_Which song?" She asked. Steve closed his eyes, letting himself smile._

"_Your favourite." He murmured, leaning into his ma's side. _

"_Really? My favourite?"_

"_Mm-Hmm." _

_His ma knelt next time Steve, tears glistening in her eyes. The only thing Steve focused on was the music coming out of her lips, sweet like honey._

"_Sleep, my little hero, sleep very long,_

_Sleep so when you wake up, you'll feel big and strong._

_And when, my little hero, you see the final sun,_

_I will hold your hand and guide you away..._

_Come, my little hero, come and walk with me,_

_I'll be by your side, o'er mountains o'er sea,_

_And when, my little hero, you see the final sun,_

_I will hold your hand and guide you away…"_

_Ma's words grew quieter as his mind drifted, consciousness slowly leaving his worn body. _

Steve Rogers gasped, his chest tightening. Something was choking him, something sour and clogged with dirt. It was cold, freezing his tongue and throat. With a yell, Steve weakly tried to stand up, the cold stinging as he forced himself to stand, crying out as his ribs flared with pain. With a choked gasp, he fell, slamming into the water. Something snapped and his wrists shot waves of pain around his body. He coughed, wailing and he rocked on the floor, broken.

Freezing, murky water was leaking into his open mouth. With a small yell, Steve twisted his head away and began to drag himself up the freezer wall, nails clawing at the sharp metal. It seemed like he was climbing a big tree, like he often did in Brooklyn, limbs shaking, lungs wheezing for oxygen. All he got in return was cold air cutting into his chest, making him splutter. It was like he was having one of his asthma attacks – no air, no energy.

That was probably why he only got halfway up the wall (sitting against the wall as support) before letting out a low moan, exhausted to the bone.

It was too cold.

"M-ma?" Steve muttered, eyes half closed, gazed.

"_Not long now, my little hero." _His ma was standing in front of him, in the beautiful flowery dress that he always admired. He long, brown hair was curled like she often had done when she was going out. Her bright, blue eyes were shining at him, her lips curved into a small smile. She was wearing her cherry lipstick.

"M-ma…I don't wanna go…" Steve whispered, he moved to grasp her outstretched hand. Water washed over his thighs, reaching his hips. Steve coughed, panting. When he blinked, his ma was gone.

"Ma…" Steve wanted her to sing to him again, hold his hand as he slept. He wanted to smell her sweet flower scent.

His arm dropped to his side as his vision blackened around the edges and his brain slowed, making blinking an effort.

_He was sinking, sinking to his death…_

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't move.

Steve watched as blood spread around him, freezing at the edges. He watched as it made a small stream that snaked through the small icicles on the floor.

"_See that star? We're gonna get there one day, you an' me." Bucky told him, waving his finger at the blackened sky. Steve Rogers smiled, twisting slightly in the cool grass. _

"_Yeah, one day, Buck. An' we'll bring back some starlight to prove it." He said. The sea of stars reflected his his eyes, illuminating them. _

_A dog barked in the distance, but the two friends didn't shift, instead breathing slowly, letting themselves relax. _

"_Too bad this is our last night here, huh?" Bucky said, his smile more strained. Steve looked back at the stars, focusing. _

_Would they ever get views like this tomorrow night, when they were training for the war? Would they be allowed to go to a hill, like this one, and stargaze again? Steve didn't know. _

_The acceptance form rustled in his pocket and he touched it, still in denial that he was allowed to fight for his country. Steve Rogers, the guy who had at least a million things wrong with him – fighting in a war. _

_He knew, deep in his heart (or maybe not so deep) that he would miss this. He would miss the hill, their hill, behind Bucky's house, miss the stars in the sky. Because he wouldn't be able to see them again, not in a long time. _

"_Yeah, off to war tomorrow…" Steve gave a dry chuckle, shuffling closer to Bucky until their arms touched. Bucky rested his hand over Steve's own._

"_We'll come back, you'll see." Bucky's voice was quieter, but to Steve it was loud and echoing in his ears. "An' them we'll look at the stars again." _

_Bucky was smiling softly, staring up at the stars as if they were simply across the street, not millions of miles away. His eyes were narrowed in determination. "An' we'll go to the stars."_

"_Jus' you an' me always." Steve replied. The stars didn't seem far away anymore. "Catchin' stars." _

Steve smiled faintly and tried to move his arm to reach at the sky. Water rippled around his upper torso as the sky above him slowly faded away, leaving a frozen slab of metal in its place.

Tony wouldn't like this décor, not with his giant mansion thingy. Maybe Thor would, but Tony would freak if he found a great big chunk of dirty metal in his house. Steve chuckled drunkly, gasping. More blood dropped down his chin and he felt it freeze there. He couldn't feel any pain anymore, just a chilling numbness. He looked down into the murky depths of the water and found that his fingers were black.

"_Bucky! Wait up!"_

"_That's not the point in a race!"_

_Steve Rogers grinned, dashing after Bucky down the hill behind his house. Long, yellow blades if grass tickled his ankles as he ran, making them itch._

_Bucky was ahead of him – he was always ahead of him – and his jacket fluttered in the wind as they ran down. The sun was shining in front of them, setting for the night, and Steve was almost blinded by the light. Almost. Bucky's silhouette was what he focused on as the sun rays warmed his face, and he laughed – _

The water was neck height.

Letting out a low moan of misery, Steve Rogers tilted his head up, wheezing. He could feel his arms start to float in the icy waters and he let out a dry sob, gasping.

"Someone…please..." His voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the rushing water. He was pale, ghostlike and forgotten. The Avengers weren't coming for him. No one was coming for him. Steve Rogers let his mind drift.

_Ma was staring at him, eyes bright and joyful. She straightened his collar, making it less itchy against his neck._

"_Look at you, all grown up." His ma gave him his school bag – the same school bag his father had on his first day of school – and stroked his cheek lovingly. _

"_Will they like me, Ma?" Steve asked, surprised at how nervous his voice sounded. "I can't do no sports, no playin'…" _

"_Darling, they will love you." Ma smiled, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Besides, even if they don't, I always will, and so does that James kid down the street – I hear he's starting school today too."_

"_He is?" Steve had spoken to James, or Bucky as he liked to be called, whenever he went to buy sweets with his mother. He liked him a lot._

"_You'll never be alone my little hero, even when it seems you are." His ma kissed him on the forehead and Steve nuzzled against her, grabbing her hand. "You remember that."_

Steve Rogers screamed.

He screamed loud and long, feeling his vocal chords strain. It was just like before.

It was just like before.

Desperately, he scrambled up the wall but he couldn't feel his hands, and the ice was slippery. He fell down, landing in the water that surrounded him.

He didn't resurface.

He _couldn't _resurface.

Steve Rogers let out a silent scream, water cascading into his mouth and down his throat. He choked out silent pleas for someone, anyone to help him. But darkness surrounding him as the cold bit into his skin, stealing his last breath.

_The speaker crackled and died as he hit the water, the plane jerking at the sudden impact. Peggy's voice left and Steve Rogers was very much alone. _

_His head smacked against metal and he was thrown out of his seat, tossed through the glass like a rag doll. _

_For a moment, for one fleeting moment, he thought he was going to live. He thought that he could get away, get out before the bomb – _

_Then it happened._

_Fire twisted around his body in midair, and he screamed, feeling the bomb's blast throw him far, far into the water. Pain was everywhere, and he wished for it to end, wished that his bones would stop snapping and twisting unnaturally._

_And then there was water. _

_At first it came as relief, killing the fire and saving him from the blast. But it then got cold, too cold._

_Too, too cold. _

_He sank further down as he flailed, the pain now decreasing as the cold took his body. _

_He knew he was going to die – as soon as he saw those bombs somewhere he knew that he wouldn't survive. As Captain America, it was the perfect sacrifice so his country could be safe, even if he would never get to see it. But Steve Rogers didn't want to die. _

_He wanted to kiss Peggy again, and take her to the dance. The image of Peggy on a dance floor by herself tugged at his heartstrings; he tried to swim so he could be with her, dance with her, but his limbs couldn't move. They were frozen solid. _

_He was blacking out. Black spots were slowly growing in his vision as he struggled, trying to reach out to the sun. The sun that was fading above him as he sunk ever lower. He wished he could see Peggy's smiling face one more time, or Bucky's deep eyes, glinting with happiness. He wished his ma was beside him, whispering softly. _

_And finally, he gave up. _

_He let his body drift downwards, feeling himself let go. He wondered if the people of the future would remember Captain America, who died for them. Would they remember him at all? Would there be history lessons on him, or would he just fade from existence and memory? _

_He was alone, despite what his ma told him. He was alone and dying. _

_As Steve's heart stopped, he thought he heard soft singing. But the moment was gone._

_Steve Rogers's eyes glazed over and fluttered shut. _

He thrashed. He twisted. He flailed.

It was just like last time, just like last time, just like last time –

Then he stopped.

The cold had won.

Tears pricked in his eyes as he sank lower until he brushed the bottom of the freezer.

His eyes roll into the back of his head. He is in the ice again. He's alone. This was how it always would be.

He was dying.

"_Sleep, my little hero, sleep very long…"_

Not again. He panics.

"_Sleep so when you wake up, you'll feel big and strong."_

His body was too weak to do anything, imprisoning him.

"_And when, my little hero, you see the final sun…"_

It was just darkness. Alone.

"_I will hold your hand and guide you away..."_

His thoughts died.

"_Come, my little hero, come and walk with me…"_

He couldn't feel anything anymore.

"_I'll be by your side, o'er mountains o'er sea,"_

Steve Rogers held out his arm, desperately wanting to find the sun. He didn't want to die alone.

"_And when, my little hero, you see the final sun…" _

Something suddenly grabbed his arm, and he was sure it was death's fingers, claiming him…

_I will hold your hand and guide you…"_

Steve Rogers's heart stopped.

—

Someone was dancing on his chest.

Or rather stamping on it heavily and rhythmically like they were doing it on purpose, like the bullies did to him when he got on their nerves.

Water. Ice. Drowning.

Steve Rogers wasn't dead. He knew that death wouldn't be as confusing as this, and he wouldn't feel so cold. Or maybe he was frozen, like before…

Suddenly he could breathe, and air whooshed in his lungs, making him cough and splutter. Something dropped out of his mouth, blood or water he couldn't be sure, and rough hands were moving him when he _really didn't _want to be moved.

Gasping, Steve Rogers slowly opened his eyes, surprised at how light it was. Wasn't he in a plane? In the water? A freezer?

Steve was in the ice. Steve was out of the ice. Steve was in the ice.

He wasn't sure where he was anymore.

Blurred images swarmed his vision, but he couldn't concentrate on them. Instead, he decided to close his eyes again.

"St – c – hear me?" A voice shouted close to his ear. Someone was shaking him and it jolted his wrists, making him cry out. He opened his eyes again, blinking as a sudden blur of red and gold was a little too close for his liking.

Water. Ice. Drowning.

Steve struggled out of the arms bundling him together, dragging himself out of the way. The ice…the water…

Voices around him rose until they were shrieks against his ears and he tried to stand, tried to get away –

He couldn't move.

Something was trapping him, pinning his sides together before he could stand. His limbs were pinned to the floor as he struggled weakly, coughing up what he was sure was blood.

"Hallucinating – calm – BRUCE!"

Steve's eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"_What do you think defines a team then, Captain Rogers?" Peggy asked, peering over him over her book. Steve shuffled awkwardly, never used to talking to anyone but Bucky. _

_Peggy was a nice, and rather pretty, woman, and Steve thought he could get along with her. If he knew how to hold a conversation. _

"_I don't think teams are all about brawn and communication, if you don't mind me saying ma'am." Steve decided to answer honestly, feeling like Peggy would agree. _

"_And what else would there be then?" Peggy was smiling, genuinely interested in what he had to say. He blushed lightly before continuing. _

"_A team, well…" he paused. "Well they gotta care a lot for each other, y'know? A team that don't care about other teammates only fight for themselves. Teammates who care for their other teammates fight for all of them."_

"_And that makes a difference?" Peggy asked, eyes bright. Steve nodded._

"_All of the difference in the world."_

"Goddammit Cap if you die –"

Someone was pounding on his chest again. Steve choked and began to breathe, wheezing. He opened his eyes and was grateful that his vision had cleared, leaving a red metal suit in its place.

"T-t-tony?" Steve stuttered. He was shivering.

"Thank god." Tony almost sounded concerned. He removed his hands from his chest, turning to someone else he couldn't see.

"Are you okay?" Clint was next to him, his arrows scattered beside him on the floor. Natasha was on his other side, combing her fingers through his frosted hair.

"That's a stupid question, actually." Clint muttered, looking worried. "How are you feeling?"

Steve couldn't answer – he was too tired and cold. Another shiver passed through his frame as he let his eyes close, dropping his head onto the ground.

He wasn't dead.

Steve Rogers wasn't dead. Not yet, anyway.

"No resting quite yet, I'm afraid…"

Bruce. Steve opened his eyes slightly, finding that it was getting harder to breathe. But he was out of the water, so why –

"Can you look at me, Steve? Can you do that for me?" Bruce's voice was full of undisguised concern, but he didn't know who it was directed to.

He was just cold and tired and in pain. He wanted to "sleep it off", as Bucky liked to say.

"Please, Steve, you gotta do this." Bruce touched his shoulder gently and Steve made an effort to look at the doctor, slowly directing his gaze directly at him.

Bruce looked tired, bags deep under his eyes. Steve wondered why.

"Good. That's good. Now can you breathe with me? Like I am doing, like this." Bruce made his breathing loud and slow, but all Steve could hear was a ringing in his ears as he shivered. Tony was shouting something which sounded something like "where are the medics?" and Natasha held his shoulder tightly. Thor was behind Bruce, pulling off his cape.

But none of this registered in Steve's mind; the images were broken to him, and were forgotten as soon as they came. His breaths were becoming more rapid and weak and he coughed again, panting.

It was like he was drowning.

And he was still cold.

"C-cold…" Steve uttered. Bruce frowned further, speaking urgently to Tony, who was gesturing wildly at unknown people.

Something was spread across his front, making him marginally warmer. It was red, and big, just like –

"Your c-cape…" Steve whispered, searching for Thor. He found him soon enough, his face creased and frowning. Thor said something, but he didn't catch it, feeling colder than he'd ever had in his life.

"He's dying…" someone whispered beside him. Steve felt his mind drift as everyone above jumped as if they'd been electrocuted, and talking to him, shaking him. Bruce was desperately checking his pulse and Tony had even stopped shouting at the people and crouched beside him, pulling off his mask.

Steve couldn't breathe again. His lungs had given up, just like they used to when he was a kid. Images blurred above him and he closed his eyes to get rid of them.

"Goddammit Cap! Breathe! We can loose you!" Someone shouted, but Steve didn't want to wake up. It was too cold to wake up.

"_Sometimes you can let go." _His ma whispered close to his ear.

And he did.

—

"_It's just a small mission, but I'd rather we'd all go, just in case." Captain America stood in front of his team, holding his shield against his chest. _

_Tony rolled his eyes, covering his face with his mask. _

"_A few HYDRA agents making a mess of a park? That's not a small mission, that's titchy." He moaned, pacing. _

"_I agree with the Captain." Thor inputted from where he was leaning. There was a small crash a few metres ahead of them and all Avengers tensed, pressing themselves against the wall they were currently hiding against._

_Another crash. Silence._

"_I have a feeling this is bigger than what it seems. I feel it in my gut." This continued after several silent minutes. He swung his hammer, playing a one handed game of catch._

"_Are you sure you didn't just eat too many pizzas last night?" Clint grinned, pulling out his bow. Thor looked confused._

"_I just said it was my gut." The god said slowly, and Captain America could almost hear the clogs in his brain._

"_Looks like you're outvoted anyway Tony." Natasha smiled, stretching. "Come on, what else would we be doing that is more entertaining than fighting some Hydra agents in a park?"_

"_A lot, actually." Tony grumbled, But began to hover in the air. He peered over their makeshift base. "Though I've gotta say, Hulk seems to be handling it quite well."_

_Another roar. Another crash. Silence._

"_Yep, quite well."_

_Captain America didn't comment, instead clutching his shield harder. _

"_We need to be thorough. Not just wrecking the place." Another roar from the Hulk echoed across New York before a crunching sound of metal meeting metal. "It could be a trap, so stay alert."_

_All of his team were listening now – even Tony, though he pretended not to. _

"_Clint, Natasha – you take the rooftops." The Captain ordered, scanning the area. A few robots were approaching closer to their place, grinding their metal claws against the pavements. _

"_Tony, Thor – distance attacks. Cut them off and find the stupid thing that's spawning them." Though Tony grumbled, he nodded with Thor, taking off into the sky. Taking a deep breath, Captain America prepared to change, protecting most of his torso with his shield. From his position, he could see his teammates fighting furiously: Tony blasting, Thor electrocuting (and shouting a lot), Natasha taking three robots down as if they were crash dummies, Clint shooting and Hulk…breaking everything in sight. He couldn't help but smile. They had came a long way from the constant bickering and refusal to work together._

_There was rasping sound behind him. _

_Captain America raised his shield just as the robot swung, scratching the metal instead of his back. With a yell, The captain kicked the robot off and swung his shield into its face. _

_Five more joined it and he raised his shield as they charged, slamming him into the wall. His head crashed against the bricks and stained the wall red. _

_With a grunt, he pushed the robots off him, throwing his shield as they stumbled. The weapon hit three in succession, knocking them onto the floor, broken beyond repair._

_The last two bits screeched and ran at him again, but he was ready. He kicked one and used it as a shield against the other's attacks until it was limp in his arms. He finished the last one off quickly: one superhuman punch left its head crushed._

"_Seen any HYDRA agents yet?" Captain America said into his communicator, panting._

"_No, can't see any of the damn bastards." Natasha's voice cracked in his ear._

"_Language." _

"_Hey Cap, those evils dudes can't be far, anyways." Tony interrupted, and he could hear the cries of battle humming behind the voice. "Not too smart for evil villains – these spawners are manually controlled, and it looks like they've done a runner just as I got to this one."_

"_Clint, Natasha – close off the area, don't let them escape." Her ordered, picking himself up off the floor. "I got your back –" _

_Something slammed into his rib cage, sending him into the air and slamming against a car. He cursed himself for not being prepared. Captain America was always prepared. He had to be, when he had a thousand enemies. _

_He stumbled to his feet, stars dancing in his vision as his head throbbed. _

"_Thought Captain America would be quicker, I guess I was wrong." _

_Captain America turned, holding up his shield as his opponent sent another attack – or rather his robots did. The man himself wasn't taking part, instead straightening his tie and combing his hair. _

_He was hurt and slow: his fighting wasn't up to its usual standards and though he twisted, punched, dodged and kicked, he was no match for a seemingly infinite army of robots. _

_It was when he smashed up the thirty third robot that he finally was beaten; pinned against the floor by a few dozen robots he was as good as paralysed, his shield lying a few metres away from him._

"_Captain America…you lost. How disappointing…" the HYDRA agent strolled foreword and looked down at Captain America as if he was a particularly interesting find on the street. His face was twisted in a snarl, eyes cold grey. _

"_Not lost yet, not for me." The Captain wheezed, His ribcage already paining him. _

"_I suppose not…" his opponent replied, sighing. "Ah well, good show anyway, wouldn't you say?"_

"_What do want to achieve this time?" Captain America replied, tilting his head to look at the destruction. "The public really hasn't done anything this time, and I know HYDRA never do anything without permission." He met the other man's gaze and watched it glint with cruel excitement. His face remained stoic however as he kept talking._

"_Oh, I never wanted destruction, Captain. Just you." _

_And his world went black._

—

An annoying beeping sound woke him, close to his ear and repetitive. Groaning, he opened his eyes and was blinded by white lights and the strong scent of disinfectant. Gasping, he tried to move but his arms were stiff.

It was just like before.

Just like the plane.

Just like the freezer.

With a yell, he flung himself out of white bed sheets and he hit the ground hard, crying out as healing chest hit the smooth floor. In a panicked frenzy, he yanked the tubes out of his arms, coughing, and ripped the oxygen mask off his face. The beeping was louder, more unsteady as he stumbled to his feet.

Loud voices were screaming various phrases as doors were flung open, revealing people in white uniform running into the room. They tried to pin him back down in the bed but he retaliated, blindly punching those closest to him.

He was drowning again, unable to get out.

"No!" He found himself shouting, covering his ears. "No!" Throwing a few more punches he ran into the blank corridor, clutching his chest. All he could see was white. White like snow.

And Steve Rogers was back in the ocean, sinking, sinking.

"Whoa Cap – easy!" Someone grabbed his waist, making him gasp and shrink to the floor.

"Okay, calm down, there we go…"

Steve pushed himself into the corner, gasping, and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Breathe Cap, breathe!"

He didn't even realise he had stopped breathing until the voice told him to, and he greedily sucked in air, his ribs twinging painfully.

"Come on, slower than that - don't you know how to breathe?" The voice, though joking, was laced with worry and shock. He knew the voice.

"Tony?" He gasped, not opening his eyes.

"The one and only." Tony replied, and he could hear the small, smug grin on his face.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he inhaled deeply despite the pain it caused, but found he couldn't fully draw a functional breath.

"This is why we had a oxygen mask." Tony said. The billionaire then uncharacteristically sat next to him, placing a hand on his quivering shoulder. He did look up at his friend then, eyes threatening to spill tears. But he couldn't do that.

Captain America didn't cry.

"You good?" Tony asked after what seemed like a few minutes, but when he looked at Tony's watch it was actually half an hour.

"Yeah, yeah…'m fine now." He hastily replied, rubbing his aching chest. A burn of guilt accompanied his pain and he found he couldn't look Tony in the eye.

There was a few seconds silence, then Tony sniffed and said "like hell you are."

"What?"

"You aren't fine, Steve."

_Steve. _

It was the first time Tony had called him Steve. His name. Not Cap, or Captain – Steve.

Steve, the boy from Brooklyn that was constantly sick. Steve, who had a loving mother and lived a few streets from his best friend Bucky Barnes.

Steve, who was just Steve.

"Now, I'm gonna ask again." Tony said, moving even closer to his side like he and Bucky did when they watched the stars. Stars that seemed too far away lately, and had been for a while.

"I'm not asking Captain America, I'm asking Steve, Steve Rogers." Tony's expression softened – something that was rarely done.

"I want to know whether Steve Rogers is okay."

Steve Rogers was about to answer with the generic answer he always gave : "honestly, I'm fine" that he so often said to his ma whenever he had hurt himself, or felt sick. But something had broken when Tony spoke his name like a friend.

His well structured answer fell to pieces, and he let out a loud, strangled sob. He thought Tony would go away – he wouldn't blame him as comforting was not his strong point.

However, if anything, Tony moved closer, draping an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on, let it out." He said casually, as if it was a conversation over coffee.

"J-just like b-before." Was all he could utter, but Tony got the message, rubbing his back.

Steve Rogers cried.

He cried in the middle of a medic ward with _the _Tony Stark at his side, comforting him like he was expecting it. Maybe he was. Probably, knowing how smart the guy was.

The billionaire didn't leave his side once throughout the ordeal as raw emotion made its presence known in loud wails and sobs. He was shivering.

"Feel better?" Tony asked in a I-don't-care-that-you-just-sobbed-over-my-expensive-suit tone. Steve shook his head, leaning against the wall. Gasping, he shivered again though it was quite warm in the hospital.

"We searched all over for you once you had gone." Tony said, leaning his head back against the wall. He placed on his shades, scratching his chin. "HYDRA hid you pretty good – not even I could sniff you out easily."

"How long was I gone?" Steve whispered. Tony paused.

"About thirty hours." He sighed. "You were really – excuse my language – fucked up when we found you. Covered in ice and water."

Steve shuddered.

"Only just got you out in time."

"Thanks."

"Huh?"

Steve gave a small smile.

"Thanks. For getting me out of there."

Tony smiled back, wrinkling his nose.

"Nah, we need a Captain." He said, pulling off his glasses again. "Besides, you're a pretty nice guy as Steve Rogers too."

Steve grinned and coughed, clutching his chest. Tony steadied him as he rocked, eyes flashing with another strange expression: Well, strange for Tony anyway. It was worry.

"Come on, big guy – bed time." The billionaire said, standing up. He helped Steve up afterwards, letting him lean on his shoulder.

Together they walked back into the hospital room, and Steve stared at all the bruises blossoming on the nurses faces.

"I did that?" Steve muttered, blinking tiredly. The walk had worn him out, and he was leaning heavily on Tony's shoulder. Tony didn't complain, but he would grunt occasionally and shoot concerned looks at him.

"They're cool with it. It happens all the time here." Tony reassured. "Tough job, being a medic in a madhouse full of Avengers."

Steve had lowered himself into the bed shortly after this with Tony's help. He tried to do it on his own before crying out, realising that his wrists were wrapped in numerous bandages.

Now he was alone.

It wasn't as bad as it was, anymore. Being alone. It didn't feel as suffocating as it had done, but still a bit unnerving.

But now, wrapped in numerous sheets that _weren't _cold, he stared out if the window that Tony had opened before he left, claiming he was going to get drunk.

Something had changed, when he talked (or cried) to Tony a few hours ago. Maybe it was because he called him Steve, or maybe it was the way that he seemed to listen; but he thought the main reason was Tony saying "_we searched all over for you once you had gone."_

They had searched for _him_. Steve Rogers. They didn't replace him with a new Captain America – they wanted the old one. Steve Rogers.

Maybe he wasn't so alone then – or wouldn't be soon enough.

He wasn't okay yet.

He hadn't been okay for some time.

But that didn't make him as weak as he thought he would. No one laughed when he had cried in front of someone, no one even stared.

The stars were glinting outside, just as bright as they had done when he was with Bucky all of those years ago on the hill. Steve reached out to them watching as they shone in a sea of black, each of them their own beacon.

They weren't so far away after all.


End file.
